


"Say 'ah' Sammy."

by CallmeG



Series: Soz Sam... [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Dean Winchester, Fever, Gen, Nausea, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Vomiting, emeto, graphic description of vomiting, mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallmeG/pseuds/CallmeG
Summary: Sam, puking his guts up, and Dean, worrying his ass off.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Soz Sam... [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1270919
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	"Say 'ah' Sammy."

**Author's Note:**

> It was meant to be a parallel of 2x11 but then I just wrote what my mind thought and next thing I knew I had way too many chick-flick moments to be close to the Winchester bond so it's probably out of character but just know I TRIED, okay? I tried and it didn't go great lmao.

It was inevitable. The second the Winchesters found a safe place to wind down, to relax and not think about being killed, one or both of their bodies would succumb to the stresses it had been put under.

In the bunker they had separate bedrooms, separate bathrooms, separate- really, the only things they shared were the kitchen/dining area and the library. It was a stark contrast to their upbringing, living in each other’s pockets, sharing toothpaste and shampoo and conditioner, eating crappy meals in crappy motel rooms. Now Dean had taken it upon himself to learn to cook and it turned out he was surprisingly good with a spatula. Sam had an abundance of learning to do from the library and it made him feel like he was almost back at Stanford; minus the dead girlfriend, dead friend etc y’know that sort of thing. He could often be found curled up in his room with a book in his lap accompanied by his laptop. It was almost… it was almost as though they had found a new normalcy. With Dean the chef Sam did the dishes and they worked together on cases during the day. Sam had managed to rewire parts of the bunker to have fast wifi and decent phone service so he could be contacted at any point by other hunters who had heard of their luck and wanted in on the lore which Sam had been more than willing to share.

Sweating out a fever in these crisp, clean sheets, though, Sam wished he could roll over and throw a pillow at Dean in the other bed in the motel. When he turned to either side he was met with walls and no brother in sight. Sighing he declared defeat on ESP’ing the other Winchester and kicked off the sheet, swinging his feet over the end of the bed. Running a hand through his hair Sam tried to decipher if he could make it to Dean without losing his meal from last night. It was a precarious battle; his stomach was already swirling and he’d been vertical for a couple seconds. Hefting himself up, Sam knew it was time to go and find Dean and maybe, hopefully, a bottle of Pepto.

“Hey, Dean, you in here?”

Poking his head into the kitchen Sam didn’t see his brother nor did he see any remnants of breakfast, meaning it was a possibility Dean hadn’t gotten up yet. Dean tended to be a night owl while Sam liked the early mornings, so it made a little sense. Sam stifled a yawn but it made bile rise in the back of his throat and he knew that was his warning sign. His head spun, fever-ridden and now disoriented, and he knew he had to find the nearest bathroom. Cursing internally, Sam knew exactly where to go.

“Ugh, man, what got to you?”

Coughing, Sam pulled his face away from the toilet long enough to look at his brother. His stomach churned and he threw himself over the seat just in time to heave bile into the bowl. He felt Dean’s presence in the room come closer until he was kneeling by his back, a hand rubbing firmly between Sam’s shoulder blades in an effort to soothe him.

“When did you start feeling like this?” Dean asked, feeling his forehead for a fever when Sam stopped gagging long enough to catch a break.

“L-last night, Dean, I-“

“- not your fault Sammy, last night was pretty… well, I was distracted. I’m sorry for not seeing it earlier.”

Sam felt the hand between his shoulders disappear, heard the sink start running and then there was a cool cloth on the back of his neck.

“Is that better?” Dean murmured and Sam hummed an agreement, leaning his head on the toilet seat. From behind him, he could feel Dean chuckling.

“Do you remember that one time… aw, man, it still makes me laugh, you got so sick Sammy-“

“-Dean shut up.”

Dean was still laughing but he reeled it in, deciding his plan of action. Hefting an arm around Sam’s waist he went to lift but Sam struggled out of the hold, grasping on to the toilet bowl.

“I can’t move, not yet, don’t move me.”

“Yeah you can. Let’s get you back to your room, okay? With a nice mattress and all your nerd porn.”

“I’m not the one still reading _Busty Asian Beauties_ , Dean- oh god hang on.”

Sam choked out another mouthful of brown-orange bile, watery and chunky and it turned Dean’s stomach even now. He grimaced, holding Sam’s long hair back for him.

“Ever heard of a haircut, Sammy?”

“Dean, seriously, shut the fuck up.”

With Sam now resting in bed, with fresh sheets and his computer, Dean tracked to the kitchen and began to hunt around for ingredients. He knew Sam’s favourite soup recipe like the back of his hand; it was simple and quick to make, luckily. Pouring a carton of chicken stock into a pot along with carrots, onions and celery made a quick soup that he would hopefully be able to keep down. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt coming back up. Bringing the mixture to a boil Dean added coriander to the mixture; coriander was one of those herbs that just made Sam happy. He’s a weird guy. Leaning against the bench Dean reached for his phone, putting in a call to Castiel.

“Hey, Cas, it’s me; no, no everything’s fine, Sam’s just got a stomach virus so you’re gonna have to take care of that hunt over in Minnesota. Could you- yeah, take Jack, whatever. Yeah, okay, thanks.”

The call was only a couple of seconds long, but it was enough for Sam to text Dean three times. Dude was quick with those texting thumbs of his.

_Sam: Dean I might need a hand_

_Sam: Dean_

_Sam: I closed the tab on Busty Asian Beauties_

Bastard.

Cursing under his breath, Dean checked the mixture on the burner before determining he could go and check on his brother.

“You good, Sam?”

“Do I look good to you?”

Sitting with the bucket in his lap, one hand holding it to his chest while the other tried to control his hair, he looked every bit the knight in distress. Sighing, Dean came over and took the bucket from him, putting it on the ground.

“You’re empty, man, promise. Every piece of rabbit food you’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours has come out by now. You need to sit back.”

Following Dean’s orders, Sam released his hair and sat back against his headboard. Dean felt his forehead again, glancing over at the MacBook sitting on the other side.

“Did you really close my one tab?”

“Dude I closed it months ago,” Sam moaned, head falling back against the brick wall and Dean frowned.

“You’re really sick. Is it just your stomach that hurts?”

“My head, Dean, it’s aching something awful and- and my muscles hurt.”

“The muscles hurting is just old age, Sammy, we all feel it,” Dean tried to tease but the worry was growing in him now. He gently checked for any scratches or stitches Sam might not have told him about but didn’t find anything that could cause an infection. Feeling his glands under his jaw Dean could tell they were raised slightly but that could be from the fever or the vomiting. Sighing to himself Dean carefully covered Sam with the sheet, pulling up the covers.

“Try and get some sleep, I’ll bring in something to eat later.”

“I’m not gonna be able to keep it down,” Sam moaned and Dean shrugged.

“Doesn’t hurt to try. Have you had any water?”

“Since I projectiled it earlier? No, and I can’t keep it down either so don’t bother trying.”

“I will bother trying, just because it pisses you off, but maybe in around half an hour so you can get your breath back.”

Sam groaned, curling up to try and ward off the waves of nausea and cramping through his stomach. Dean went to the door, softly closing it behind him. Running his hand over his face, he tried to remember the best way to care for Sam. He had to admit, it’d been a while since he’d had to step up- the trials were the last time and they were a while ago now- maybe even before then, that case when Sam had made Dean _promise_ to kill him if things went south. Whenever Sam showed even the slightest cold he was downing water and eating all sorts of rabbit food to stop himself getting to- well, where he was now.

“Dammit Sammy,” Dean cursed under his breath, pushing off the wall to head for the kitchen.

The nausea left Sam restless and uncomfortable, kicking around under the sheets, getting too hot and kicking them off, then getting too cold and pulling them back up. His head ached something awful and he tried to remember where his bottle of Tylenol was. Was it still in his bedside table drawer- no, hurts to move, let’s not move right now. Keep eyes closed. His stomach cramped up again and Sam winced, a hand slipping to where the pain radiated as he tried to massage it away. With no luck, he curled up tighter and wished for someone to help, someone to ease his pain, someone who could soothe him.

The next time Sam was disturbed from his feverish haze it was Dean again, but this time he had a glass of water, a can of ginger ale and a bowl of something, as well as a clean bucket. He set to work, quietly putting the water and ginger ale on the bedside table, settling the bucket on the floor where Sam could grab it easily, then kneeling down beside said sasquatch.

“Hey, Sammy, can you look at me?”

Glancing up for a split second from the darkness made Sam cry out and Dean used his body to block out the ceiling light so Sam could do as asked. When he finally made eye contact Dean knew it was serious. Sam’s face was flushed and covered in sweat, the sheets were stained with it again, and he looked like he was in some severe pain. Immediately Dean reached for the bowl of soup, giving it a gentle stir before holding said spoon up to his brother. Sam fixed him with a weak Sam Winchester Bitchface but it couldn’t hold, as he took a tentative sip from the spoon. Dean smiled, taking another spoonful from the bowl.

“Let’s see if you can keep this down, hey? You can have the good meds if you can.”

Sam looked utterly exhausted as he let Dean spoon-feed him, the humiliation of the moment nowhere to be seen in his haze. Dean kept a hand on his shoulder the whole time, whispering and making sure the soup managed to get into his mouth. The one time it did spill, it hit the sheets and Dean snorted.

“Ah well, was gonna have to wash them anyway, right Sammy? Got your big sweaty paws all over em, hopefully the fever’s gonna break. I’m gonna have to steal someone else’s sheets if this keeps up.”

Sam knew Dean would give him his own sheets if he had to, but he was also aware a lot of the bedrooms in the bunker still had perfectly made, pristine beds that could be stripped quickly if they needed the sheets. It wasn’t like people stayed in the rooms often anyway. Putting the bowl to the side, Sam felt Dean put his hand to his forehead and he knew his brother’s eyes were wide in concern.

“Holy shit, Sammy, let’s get some Tylenol in you, does that sound good? Maybe you can get some sleep.”

“Mmhmm. Dean…”

“I know Sammy, shut up and let me help.”

Dean gently helped Sam up to a sitting position, handing him two pills and the glass of water. Sam downed the pills with little sips of water, wincing at the heavy feeling settling in his stomach. If Dean wasn’t careful he could end up with a lapful of regurgitated soup. Rubbing Sam’s shoulder Dean watched his brother try to settle the soup and medication, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths in an effort to ward off the need to upchuck… again. His face turned an odd shade of green and before Dean could get the bucket he was gasping between dry heaves. Grabbing the catcher from the floor Dean thrust it under Sam’s chin at the perfect time, grabbing his hair to keep it back for him.

“Dude, you got it bad,” he murmured which earned him a full-bodied gag from his brother that made Dean shiver. Very rarely had Sam gotten so sick as to achieve the full-body gag experience. It was an experience they’d both rather forget, thank you very much. As the watered-down soup and bile came up Dean knew it was useless to try and get Sam to take more Tylenol- he’d just barf it up again. With nothing sitting right in his stomach, Dean decided it was time to bring out Sam’s childhood arch nemesis- no, not clowns, he’s not that much of a dickhead- but Pepto Bismol was a wonder drug when used in time. Dean just had to hope he wasn’t too late.

“Say _ah_ , Sammy.”

“Ah-“

The second Sam had his mouth open Dean poured the pepto in, holding his brother’s jaw shut and fixing him with a gaze that could be a relative to the blue steel. Sam’s eyes widened and he reluctantly swallowed, tapping Dean’s arm so he would let him go. When Dean released him Sam reached for the glass of water, taking a sip.

“You could have just asked me.”

“Please, we both know you’d rather puke your intestines up than take the pink stuff.”

Sam lay back down on his side, knees drawn up close to try and reduce the pain of the cramps. Dean pulled the blanket back over him, smoothing it down his side and giving his arm a squeeze.

“I’m just in the library if you need me, okay? All you gotta do is call- or, uh, text.”

Sam nodded miserably, burying his head into his pillow.

“Can you close the door a little more?” He croaked and Dean nodded, getting up. Standing at the door he did a quick once over to check that everything Sam might need was in place, before pulling the door closed just enough that a sliver of light could pass through- enough that Dean could hear if Sam yelled for him. Heading back down the hall toward the library, Dean wished he couldn’t see the parallels so well. It was so… it was so rare for Sam to get this sick and the last time he had it had been the morning after Dean had promised to kill him- no, to _slaughter_ him, if the demon blood took over. The trials hadn’t been this bad, sure there had been an upchuck or two, with a little blood, but all Dean could think about was his brother lying helplessly in his bed, trying to decide what Netflix show he should watch that won’t upset his stomach; true crime probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Fucking hell, Sam,” Dean cursed as he sat at the big table in the library and buried his face in his hands, trying to get a grip. Sam was okay, he wasn’t going anywhere, he was just sick. It was the stomach flu, it wasn’t demon blood trying to combat his human system.

The fever seemed to break late in the evening, but Sam was still extremely nauseous to the point of dry heaving over the bucket multiple times into the early hours of the following morning. Dean felt like he hadn’t slept a wink as he’d been going between his room and Sam’s throughout the night. Sam was weak from the illness but still stubborn as hell, so Dean had taken to emptying the bucket for him, getting him water, trying to convince him he needed more medication to try and stop his brain from boiling. At one point around 3am Sam had a nightmare and managed to convince himself that Dean was Lucifer in the cage with him. The worst part was that he didn’t have a fever anymore; he was just so exhausted that his usually perfectly rational brain was now a pile of mush. After much convincing Sam had finally agreed to go back to sleep, curled up horizontally across his bed so he was resting on the pillows and Dean had rearranged the blankets to cocoon his brother.

When the sun had risen Dean had extracted himself from his bed in search of a good cup of coffee. Stumbling into the kitchen he managed to get the coffee maker going, resting against the bench to rub at his eyes. He was exhausted; and hoping he hadn’t managed to contract whatever Sam had suffered through for the past 36 hours. Speaking of Sam, Dean put on some toast in hopes that he might be able to get Sam to eat something, leaving one piece plain and smothering the other in peanut butter for himself. Shoving the peanut butter one in his mouth and finishing it in a couple bites, Dean decided it was time to disturb the beast- uh, Sam. Time to wake Sam.

Sam lifted his head from his pillows when he heard his bedroom door creak, blinking sleepily toward the light source and the figure coming toward him. When his vision cleared he realised it was Dean and half smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey.”

“Hey. How are you feeling? No more Jackson Pollocks?”

“What- uh, no, I feel better. My head doesn’t hurt as much and I don’t feel the need to empty my stomach again.”

“That’s good. I got some toast if you want to try it.”

The older Winchester set his cup of coffee beside Sam’s glass of water on the bedside table, sitting on the edge of the bed with the plate of toast. Breaking it into smaller pieces he began to make airplane noises.

“Open up, Sammy, here comes the airplane-“

“-give me that.”

Sam snatched the toast out of his brother’s hand, taking a tentative bite. He gave it a couple of seconds, testing if it was going to settle before he managed to finish the entire slice. Dean smiled, holding his hand to Sam’s forehead just in case the fever had returned for round two. Finding Sam to be back toward the normal side of the temperature scale he gave his brother’s arm a squeeze.

“You look better.”

“I feel better.”

“Take it easy for today, okay? Get some rest, catch up on Netflix, whatever- and I’m taking your phone. No one knows you got sick but I don’t want you to be worrying about the others.”

Dean swiped the phone in question before Sam could grab it, making the younger Winchester frown.

“Dean, they need to-“

“-do check ins, I know, and you want to help them with lore. I can do that; you need to get better so you can lead them. Don’t argue with me on this.”

“Fine.”

Sam rolled over, finding his laptop and opening the lid. He pulled up the Netflix home screen and Dean took the opportunity to slip out of the room with the empty plate. Closing Sam’s bedroom door behind him, he heaved a sigh of relief.

Seeing Sam more alert, less puke-y, was like Chuck himself had decided to grant them a little peace. Internally, Dean promised that he wouldn’t let himself get caught up in his head so far that he missed the signs of his brother’s deteriorating health. Nothing should get in the way of those you love, especially when those you love are struggling… even if it is your hugely independent, stubborn little brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to drop a kudos and/or a comment! Literally the best way to make a writer's day is to drop a comment or ask a question. If you want to you can follow me over on tumblr at crinkled-emotions where I post about Supernatural, Criminal Minds, Chicago PD, and whatever comes to mind. Recently it was a rant about Red Dwarf, that was a moment lmao.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> G


End file.
